Lazy, Hazy

If I could have had a video camera mounted to my cap just now, I'd treat you all to some lovely, peaceful scenes of my neighborhood flying past as I whirred by on my 10 speed.  I've been bike riding a lot this summer, and usually I set off first thing in the morning, but today being Saturday we all slept in a little late, so the bike ride was postponed until dusk. For some reason the neighborhood looks different at sundown than it does at sunrise.  A little rougher, a little less safe.  Don't know if it's the thought of impending darkness, or just that there are more clumps of people hanging around (i.e. teenagers with baggy pants, cell phones, and dogs), or the fact that I took a left turn out of the driveway instead of my usual right.  Anyway, I felt a small inkling of discomfort tonight, made more intense by the fact that I left my own cell phone at home.  Reminder to self: Start riding with cell phone and/0r some ID. 

Once I crossed over Six Mile road, the main east/west thoroughfare that bisects my travels, and headed toward my usual ride through Lola Valley Park and over into Western County Club territory, I felt a bit more at ease.  There are some lovely homes sprinkled throughout this area, homes circa 1960-1970, each one slightly different, most of them with nicely manicured lawns and bounteous, colorful flower beds. 

I've written about this before, but I like the fact that there's history here.  Oh, nothing like the history you might find in small New England towns, and certainly not the history in European countries.  But for an American suburb, there's some legs in this township.  After all, it was the mid 1850's when the first settlers paddled their canoe down the very river I pedal past on my daily bike rides.

A blogger friend and I were talking a bit about that earlier today, discussing choices of cities.  She chose her current city over another one close by because it seemed "more seasoned."  I can understand that completely...our town is quite well seasoned, and after living in Naples, which is certainly a more esthetically beautiful place but pretty devoid of history, I know exactly what she means.

But I'm kind of afraid for my town.  More than "kind of," actually.  It's been hit hard by the economy, and there have been a lot of homes lost in foreclosure.  There is a different socio-economic feel to the city here, lots of empty businesses that haven't recovered.  Property values are low, the lowest in a long time, and not likely to rise significantly any time soon, if ever.

So I add that to my list of worries about where to go and what to do.  I've lived here almost my entire life, which is rare enough.  I'd like to think I could live here for a long time to come, or at least until I have to move because I need more assistance with living. 

But make no mistake - the longer I stay, the more that's going to hurt, in every possible way.  As the song goes, "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

There are the thoughts that flash through my mind as I pedal full tilt up and down the neatly paved roads, the wind in my face, cool breeze in my hair, and the weight of history on my shoulders.

Feathering the Nest

My thoughts have been turning to decorating lately.  It's been close to 15 years since any major changes to the decor have been done around here.    Though I love the idea of having a new look to the old place, I'm a major procrastinator when it comes to actually doing anything about it.  But  I've been having lots of fun cyber shopping at the CSN Stores, with over 200 online stores where you can find everything from cookware to cribs, from dining room sets to dog beds.  I'm really excited about the opportunity to review one of the products from the  CSN stores.  There are so many things I need, and so many great things to choose from ~ who knows what I'll pick! 

I'll keep you posted.

The Food Revolution

Although I haven't mentioned it here, we're on a new regime chez Becca's.  There has been a revolution in my kitchen, a sea change of the healthy sort, thrust upon us by some sobering medical news from my husband's physicians.  My dear husband has been suffering from a multitude of physical ailments which the medical professionals have kindly lumped together into something they call metabolic syndrome.  If you're afflicted with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, high insulin/glucose, sleep apnea, restless leg syndrome, and carry a spare tire (or two) around your middle, chances are good that you're part of this crowd.  (By the way, my husband has not one, not two, but all of the above symptoms.)  Left untreated, this condition can result in diabetes, heart disease, stroke...all the biggies. Treatment mainly consists of LIFESTYLE CHANGES. 

We all know how much middle-aged men love lifestyle changes.  Translated into doctor speak, it means more exercise, less eating.  More bike riding, less television.  More fish, less beef.  More beans, fewer potatoes.  More fruit, no ice cream.

My husband is not a happy camper.

"Eating is my one pleasurable activity," he whined after the program was laid out for him.

"Now that's just pitiful," I replied.  "First off, that can't be true.  And if it is true - well, you'd better just find some other pleasurable activities."

The irony of the situation is that the "healthy" diet his doctors and nutritionist espouse is full of all my favorite things...fresh fish, whole grains, lots of fruits and vegetables.  That's not to say I don't crave a loaded cheeseburger once in a while, but in general the loss of beef and starchy white foods does not hurt my feelings nearly as much as it does the Irishman out there on the sofa.

We've been at this for about six weeks now, and I say we because I jumped on the bandwagon as well.  After all, what women of a certain age wouldn't be happy to lose 10 or 15 pounds?  The grumbling has dissipated somewhat, and I've come up with enough healthy versions of his favorite things to keep him fairly well satisfied.

I'm no gourmet cook, and I like to make things that are quick and easy.  So herein is the first in a "series" I plan to call "Too Good to be Healthy," some of the easy recipes we've found that actually taste good enough to make you wonder if they really are healthy foods.

Try them.  You might join the food revolution too.

Veggie Pizza, Mediterranean Style

One Boboli brand whole grain pizza crust, spread with...

One jar of your favorite pizza sauce (I like Chef Boy Ar Dee), topped with....

Veggie Toppings, all sautéed lightly in a splash of extra virgin olive oil: Baby Portabella mushrooms, Green Pepper, Diced onion, black or green olives, covered with...

A light dusting of freshly shaved Parmigiano cheese over top.

Bake at 450 for about 15-20 minutes.

Serve with a large tossed salad and your favorite light dressing.

Outside the Box

"I was just amazed you said Yes!" my friend Pat responded when I thanked her for inviting me along on her annual Ladies Only outing to the Shakespeare Festival in Stratford, Ontario.  Inwardly, I was taken aback just a bit by this remark.  Have I become so reclusive that my friends are surprised when I agree to go places with them? Admittedly, I do tend to stick to myself,  often choose being at home with my dogs and a book over going to movies or parties.  Once again, I go back to my roots as an only child as the reason for this.  I've always been perfectly happy with just me, myself, and I for company, and tire easily when I'm "in society" too much.

But I didn't realize my habit of hunkering down alone had become so noticeable .

Of course, one of the things at which my friend Pat is particularly skilled is getting people to step outside their box.  She taught high school music and drama for two decades, and that definitely requires major expansion of one's comfort zone.   Although I was an adult when I met her, no one had ever done much in the way of encouraging me to push the boundaries of my safe little box.   Working with her for 15 years provided me lots of opportunities to stretch those walls I'd always lived so comfortably within.  Performing dozens of times every year and in all kinds of places; being ready to cope with less than stellar conditions or changes in program at a moment's notice; forming relationships with students and their parents ~ these are the kinds of things that built my confidence and gave me the courage to leap outside the parameters of my small, insular life.

Even though Pat and I maintain a lasting friendship, we haven't worked together on a regular basis for the past several years.  Those years have been a bit traumatic for me - I've been through some major losses in terms of people I love, and some rather stern lifestyle changes as well.  If I'm honest, I can feel myself retreating back into that safety zone I once knew so well, that tiny safe place called home where I can huddle into a metaphorical corner.  I need someone - or something - to encourage me to step outside of the box again.

Because the two days I spent in Stratford this week  with Pat and several other friends were just amazing.  We saw some breathtaking theater productions, but we also had great conversations and shared some really relaxing moments.  I'm surprised by just how much events like this mean to me.   They are rare, so they take on a quality of preciousness in my mind, like some small, perfect jewel of experience in my memory.

It was good to have some quality time outside the box this week.

How about you?  What (or whom) can get you to step outside the boxes you've built  around  your life?

Kite Flying

When I think about why people have children, I realize how little it should have to do with the future.  If, before any children are conceived, we knew that our reward for raising them would be perhaps several phone calls a month, a very occasional visit, and the sense of having once been important in their lives, we might not do it.  But if we realize that the rewards are given during the raising, we will calculate the cost differently.  My children have taught me more than I have taught them, given me more joy that I have given them, and their not being present or even much aware of me now does not alter this.   ~ from The Journal Keeper, by Phyllis Theroux

Right before my son's senior year in high school, my friend Pat gave me a framed reprint of the poem titled "Children Are Like Kites."  You've probably seen it - the gist of it is that you spend years preparing children to "get off the ground."  You run with them, patch them up when they're torn, pick them up off the ground countless times.   You let the string out a bit at a time, until finally they're airborne.  Finally, "the kite becomes more distant, and you know it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you together and it will soar as it was meant to soar - free, and alone."

Of course, by the time you get to this part of the poem, you're choking back tears.  Even now, some 12 years later, I get teary eyed reading those last few words.

But then there's the final sentence:

Only then do you know that you have done your job.

I believe that's true.  It's in the letting go that a parent really comes to know what they're made of.  And if you've done your job well, when you read that very last line you'll dry your tears, stand up a little straighter, take a deep breath and move on.

Most of you know that my husband and I are only children, and in terms of feeling responsible for their parents' happiness,  I think the burden on an only child is rather great.  My parents and my husband's parents were as different as night and day in their child-rearing styles, but nevertheless, the outcome on each side was exactly the same.  Both of us always felt the need to be perfect, and to do whatever it took to make our parents happy, even if that meant subsuming what we desired for our own lives.  

So when we got married, we had an agreement - if/when we had children, we would not stand in their way, would not make them feel as if our lives depended on their constant presence, not make them feel guilty or worried about what we'd do without them. 

In short, we'd let them break the kite string and soar.

We've tried really hard to do that, and I think we've succeeded pretty well.  Our only son left home at age 18 to go to college in Florida, traveled more than halfway around the world on several occasions,  met and married a young woman from a completely different culture.  He's lived in Florida for the past 12 years, and is planning to move again - to Texas, this time, to embark upon another era in his life's journey. 

As a matter of fact, sometimes I have to laugh at just how well we've succeeded in allowing him to soar.  I'm sure his trajectory simply boggles the minds of our parents, as well as other more conservative folks in our families, who probably always wondered why in the world  we let  him do those things. 

Make no mistake, there's nothing easy about this process.  There's no magic pill you can take to stop missing your children, to keep your heart from aching when you're apart on birthdays and holidays, to prevent you from wondering what they're doing or how their day is going, if they're in a bad mood or on top of the world.   I've always been deeply  involved in my own mother's life (probably overly so),  and I  know that I will continue to become even more involved from now on as she draws nearer to the end of it,  and  it hurts sometimes to think I might never have that kind of relationship with my own child,  that I  may very well need to rely on the "kindness of strangers" to shepherd me through my later years. 

But, as Phyllis Theroux says in the passage quoted above ~"My children have taught me more than I have taught them, given me more joy that I have given them, and their not being present or even much aware of me now does not alter this."  

Watching those beautiful, strong, colorful kites waving proudly in the breeze is worth everything, and one of life's greatest experiences.

I wouldn't have missed it for the world.